


Bloodletting

by KiiKitsune, RoyalxBlackxLace



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Cutting, M/M, Self-Harm, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/KiiKitsune, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalxBlackxLace/pseuds/RoyalxBlackxLace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your only option is a bad one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodletting

Alex shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, tapping his pen against the smudgy newsprint of the morning’s paper. His hand and wrist were black from dragging his hand over it and the page was red with ink. Thick, scribbled ‘x’ marks lined the classifieds.

‘Requires basic potion work...’

‘Hedgewitch needed for...’

‘Charmcaster wanted...’

Looking for any un-marred bit of paper and coming up short, Alex tossed his pen back in the direction of its holder. He slurped the rest of the milk out of his bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then headed towards the door to slip his worn shoes on. 

The walk to work was a pleasant one and, like most days, Alex wished it would never end. Entering the grocer’s back door seemed more like stepping through the gates of hades every day. The staff room was cramped and poorly lit. Boxes of extra stock were piled up in the corner in preparation for Yule, the scent of cinnamon and peppermint seeping through the cardboard to sting Alex’s nostrils. He stowed his jacket and threw on his green apron as quickly as he could and went into the shop proper. It was far too early for any customers, but Alex was greeted by the only other full-time worker. 

Mr. Harris was an old man who’s joy for life had atrophied along with most of his muscle mass. He spent most of his time skulking about the shop he’d owned for 40 years, prodding the merchandise into place with his bony fingers and complaining about his knees. Alex also knew the man kept an empty tin behind the register that he spit into when customers weren’t looking. 

Every morning, Mr. Harris would look Alex from head to toe, pull a face, and list off the aisle numbers that needed to be stocked. Alex would do as he was told, cursing under his breath the moment he was out of the man’s thankfully small hearing range. Their dislike was mutual, but it worked. Alex got a job that didn’t require magic or a high school diploma; Mr. Harris got an employee who didn’t quit when faced with his unpleasant demeanor. 

Alex was turning jars around, squinting at the labels and trying to figure out where on earth they belonged, when the shop bell rang for the first time that day. Unfortunately, the customer headed straight for the aisle he was in. 

“Can you tell me the ingredients I’ll need for a brew of luck? I had them written down, but I can’t find the darn paper anywhere…” The woman was short, with long dark hair and a purse the size of a toddler. “I think it was… Ashwinder eggs… Murtlap. Definitely Murtlap. Um… Oh geez, I know it’s such a basic potion, but it’s completely escaping me right now.”

Alex stood straighter, clutching the jar of glittery goop he’d been holding a bit tighter. There was a low level static noise playing in the back of his mind; the same he always heard when questions like this were asked of him. His eyes darted around, looking for Mr. Harris but the man was nowhere to be seen.

“I- uh-”

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Is something wrong?”

He forced a grin onto his face. “N-Not at all. Why don’t I get my boss to help you out? He’s great with brews and whatnot.”

“Oh, well, thank you?”

Alex spun on his heel and left her confused face behind. He found Mr. Harris slouching around the vegetables. The man gave Alex one look and curled his lip in disgust. “Again?”

Alex looked away guiltily. Mr. Harris snorted and pushed past him to head for the witchery aisle. “Useless, you are. Don’t know why I keep you around.”

Alone, Alex set the jar down at the till and went to go sort through the new shipment of apples. Fruit was safe. Nothing too strange about it. All he had to know was the difference between ‘run-of-the-mill’,‘organic’, and ‘magically enhanced’; and those were all neatly labelled on the shipping crates. 

He spent the rest of his morning putting out the new produce and spritzing the lettuce. Lunch was the usual brown-bag affair of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and candy bar. Even the chocolate tasted boring when he had it every day. 

Afternoon rolled around uneventfully. Then it hit three thirty. The kids were out of school then, and they’d had enough time to wander off their playgrounds and around town. Alex hated three thirty. 

As if on cue, a gaggle of four or five preteen boys entered the shop. It was hard to tell how many there were because they all looked the same and were constantly darting around and shoving at each other. 

Mr. Harris tottered over to stand beside Alex at the till and jerked his head in the direction of the group. “Go watch ‘em.”

With a sigh, Alex followed them over to the refrigerator aisle, trying to look inconspicuous. The little brats were too caught up in their roughhousing to really notice him anyways. 

One boy got knocked into the glass doors of the refrigerator, making the whole pane shake. Alex contemplated telling them to tone it down, but he didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before another one was reaching in and grabbing a liter bottle of milk. 

“Dare you to chug it!” He said, shoving the bottle at one of the others. They all laughed like they didn’t have brains in their skulls and the one who’d been dared broke the seal on the milk. He was tipping it back when Alex found his voice.

“Hey!”

Milk spilled down the kid’s face as he choked in surprise. The group all looked alarmed for a moment, seeing Alex’s apron. Then they looked at the rest of Alex; scrawny, beanpole Alex. The laughing resumed and the kid chucked the milk down the aisle, towards Alex’s feet.

“Run!” 

The group dashed in the opposite direction, but not before one of them flicked his fingers back towards Alex. The shelf full of crisps next to him rumbled and, with a bright burst of green sparks, every bag exploded, showering him with chip bits. 

Alex didn’t bother chasing after the boys. He just stared forlornly at the barbeque flavoured mess of milk and potato he now had to clean up. With a heavy sigh, he brushed some of the chip bits out of his hair and headed for the supply closet to get a mop. Other people, he thought bitterly, could have tidied it all up with a simple spell. Alex was not so lucky. He never had been. 

After cleaning the mess and having Mr. Harris chew him out for not doing a better job keeping watch, the day dragged on. When five o’clock hit, Alex shuffled his way back to the staff room, too tired to really lift his feet. He swapped his apron for his jacket mechanically and walked home in a daze. 

The apartment block was louder now than when he’d left. He could hear the woman downstairs blasting her Chinese dramas and the couple to the left having sex in their kitchen. Alex ignored his dishes in favour of grabbing a pudding and turning on his own tv. He raised the volume until everything else faded into the background and watched, glassy eyed, as the news played. 

“And in Heartsfield today, tragedy struck.” The news woman had her face screwed into lines of concern as she read the off camera prompter. “17 year-old Kim Conners was found dead this morning next to what looked to be a blood altar.” There was a dramatic pause as the woman let that sink into the skulls of her audience. “Blood magic, though it has been widely known to be a false magic for the last several years, is still a problem with today’s youth. I urge you, if you think your child is trying to do blood magic, talk to them and reach out to local professionals.” She bowed her head, shuffling the papers in front of her on the newsroom desk. Numbers of local suicide prevention hotlines scrolled across the bottom of the screen. “In other news-”

Alex wasn’t listening anymore. Instead his nails were scraping across the skin of his palm, scratching at a scab running across it. He looked down, staring at the wound as he peeled back the dried blood and half-healed skin. Red seeped from the small slit, beading up until he smeared it with his thumb, pushing it into the cracks of his palm and feeling the dull ache of the abused cut.

Blood magic. Alex had heard about it when he was a kid. His friend Jason had died because of it, just like the Kim girl on TV. He’d been scared of it for years, talked about how it was a cowards way out with his friends. He even heard people saying how selfish Jason had been to try it, how horrible he was for hurting his parents like that. Alex had believed them. 

For a while.

The TV clicked off and Alex pushed himself up from his shabby couch. The pudding was ignored, left to sit with a spoon by his usual spot as he headed back towards his room. A little red stain was left on the door as he pushed it open, looking around for a moment. Everything was as he expected it to be, nothing extraordinary or interesting. Just dirty laundry tossed over every surface, a rumpled bed that he couldn’t be convinced to deal with, and a small table a foot or so from the door.

The table was nothing exceptional, but it was the most important thing to Alex. Rather, what was on it was. It was the key to getting out of this slump, to ditching the crap job and making Harris choke on his own spit. He walked over to it, looking down and inspecting his previous attempts. 

Runes were scratched into the wood top, crusted brown with Alex’s own dried blood. A small bowl, something you would eat cereal out of, sat in the center of the runes. The sides were stained with small splashes and a ring around a small pool that still remained fluid. A fly buzzed around the edge, landing a moment before taking off again. The only other thing on the makeshift altar was a carefully cleaned butcher’s knife.

This had to work. Alex couldn’t spend the rest of his life at that store, hoping he could stock apples instead of jars, holding his breath for the moment that changed everything. He picked up the knife, looking at the sharp edge. If this didn’t work… His mind blanked, refusing to think that was even a possibility. It would work.

Alex clenched his jaw and put his hands over the small bowl. The knife moved in a familiar motion, cutting into the same line that was already there. It hurt less than the first time, or even the second, but his eyes still flinched at the corners. Blood trickled down his hand, trailing through his life line until it dripped into the bowl, splashing to make new stains on the side.

Alex watched the blood. He stared hard into the half-congealed pool and thought about how much he wanted it-- needed it. Maybe today he’ll have sacrificed enough for the magic to spark; spilled just the right amount of blood to satisfy whatever arcane gods or demons granted power for his pain. 

Nothing happened. Alex flexed his hand, making more blood flow but nothing changed. Just the same as last time and the time before. He grit his teeth and glared into his failure, half tempted to toss the table over. 

“It’s never going to work.”

The voice came from behind Alex, startling him enough to drop the kitchen knife into the bowl in front of him. Blood splashed from inside, spilling over the edge to trickle down the white plastic side. He spun around quickly to see who had broken into his apartment.

Lounging as if the bean bag chair they inhabited was a throne, was a sidhe. It was impossible to think them as anything else. Too beautiful by far to be human or even a normal fae. No. This was definitely a sidhe from one of the courts. Someone from far outside the city.

“Not without a little help, anyway.” The sidhe spoke with a little smile on their lips and crinkles at the corners of their bright green eyes. Their skin seemed to shine with an inner glow, casting shadows around the room as night fell.

Alex swallowed hard and tore his eyes from the full lips that had caught his attention, jerking them back up to the red-lined orbs instead. “How did you get in here?”

The fae shrugged, somehow making the gesture look graceful. “You invited me, of course.” They gestured with their hand, as if brushing the question away as not important.

“No. I didn’t.” He certainly would have remembered if he had. It was hard enough not to stare at the glittering form. He wouldn’t have forgotten it.

The fae shrugged again and rose from their seat, crossing the small room as the moved, looking at the small desk scattered with music. “Well. Not yet I suppose.” They picked up his cell and started using their thumb across the screen. “You may call me Nikolas.” Their thumb paused and they turned the screen back to Alex, showing a picture of a teenage trio standing near the entrance to the sewers, a younger Alex among them. “I already know your name, Alex Parvis.”

Alex moved forward, snatching the phone back from the unresisting grip and backed up again. “Not yet?” He shoved the cell in his back pocket, slitting his eyes at the figure now leaning against his desk. “Have you been stalking me?”

The fae shook their head, grinning again. “Nothing like that. I simply remember a lot of things that haven’t happened yet.” Their face grew more solemn, the smile only persisting with a sad edge. “My blessing and my curse.” They shrugged again and sighed, bringing back their pleasant demeanor and losing all trace of depression in less than a moment. They tipped their head to the side and what Alex had thought was red eyeliner started trickling down their cheek. “You have been shown to me. I thought I might offer my help.”

Those green eyes. So bright. The colors seemed to spiral and melt together, shifting and changing. “...What help?” Alex couldn’t pull his gaze away. He just kept watching, entranced until the fae turned away.

“Its quite simple really.” Nikolas moved passed Alex, approaching the kitchenware sitting on his old bedside table. “You want power and I can give it to you.” A long finger traced around the edge of the bowl, running through the blood that had spilled there. “I can make the blood magic work for you and let you grow strong.” They turned their head back to their captive audience, eyes normal once more but what they had to say was nearly as consuming. “Stronger than any witch, sorcerer, or fae in the city. Maybe more so.”

A niggling thought was throbbing at the back of Alex’s mind. He could remember old lessons about dealing with the fae. That you didn’t get something for nothing. “What do you get out of it?”

The red line was falling down both of the fae’s cheeks now; running nearly to their chin as thick as blood. “Just a favor later. Nothing you need to worry about really.” They raised their stained finger to their lips. Their tongue slipped free, sliding along the digit until the blood was gone.

Alex was having a hard time thinking now, white static noise echoing in the back of his skull. He tried thinking of the old warnings and things he had to read about in high school. He seemed to remember that you shouldn’t make a deal with a fae without being prepared, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. “What kind of favor?” He stalled, his brow wrinkling as he forced his thoughts back.

“Really?” The question came from the fae’s lips as sharp as a blade. Alex’s chin jerked up and his eyes snapped back to the fae’s face and away from the floor he had been staring at while his mind worked. “You’re going to turn down power and prestige for a favor I won’t even ask for until who knows when?” Their eyes were blazing now, burning and almost painful to look at, but it was impossible to look away. “If that is truly how you feel. I will go.”

Nikolas moved towards the door and the spell was broken leaving Alex’s heart pounding in his chest. Images flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked. Visions of going to work at the grocer day after day until he was old and gray, still getting yelled at by his boss for getting things wrong, still just stuffing shelves with things he didn’t know how to use in the witchery aisle. He saw his old friends with skills and careers having children of their own. Children that came by the store to throw eggs at him or spells that rained frogs on his head for hours. Every vision that came to him painted him more useless and powerless than the one that came before it. "No!"

The fae paused and turned back to the human, an imperious look upon their face. They said nothing, waiting for the startled look on Alex’s features to go away enough for him to speak.

“I want it.” A desperate edge showed in his eyes. “Make it work.”

Nikolas raised their chin and looked down their nose, far less kind now than they had been when they first arrived. “You agree then?”

“Yes. I agree.” Alex moved forward slightly, standing a little taller and staring once more into those green eyes. “I need this.” Determination tightened his jaw a moment and a mental hand shoved away any misgivings he might have had.

The fae nodded slightly and gave a small smile. “I know.” They moved forward, reaching out to brush their hand across Alex’s cheek. He didn’t dare move, to interrupt as a thumb moved to brush over his lips. All he could do was swallow and stare into that gaze as it came closer and closer until their lips touched.

The kiss was soft, undemanding at first. A probing tongue moved against Alex’s mouth, requesting entrance that the fog growing in his mind refused to deny. His lips parted, but it wasn’t a tongue that came exploring. Instead something as thick as chocolate spilled from the fae into Alex. It tasted like copper and agony and his throat tried to reject it, gagging, but the fae tightened their fingers on his face making him gasp in pain.

The fluid poured in, rushing with heat and streaming down into his core. Alex couldn’t breath and raised his hands to struggle, but the fae was unmoved and the torrent continued, filling him up, drowning him slowly. The edges of his vision started to blacken and his pulse pounded in his head.

Just as the blackness had started to consume Alex’s vision, the firm hand on his chin released him and he crumpled to the floor. The thick power coiled and rolled in his stomach, threatening to make him sick but never quite getting there.

“You won’t be able to use your real name anymore. It will hold a power over you as strong as it would have over any fae.” The voice seemed to come from far away, echoing as he gulped in air. “I personally suggest Parv. It suits you.”

Alex’s vision wavered and danced as he raised his head. The fae laid something silver on his little table, next to the plastic bowl full of his failed attempts, and gave him a dark grin. A moment later they were gone, simply not there, and Parv was alone.


End file.
